"Must you go, good sir?" said Judith, also rising. "I trust we have not over-taxed your patience. We country folk are hungry listeners."
"To have been awarded so much of your time, sweet Mistress Judith," said he, bowing very low, "is an honor I am not likely to forget."
And then he addressed the old dame, who had missed something of this.
"Give ye good thanks for your kindness, good Mistress Hathaway," said he.
"Good fortune attend ye, sir," said the old dame, contentedly, and without ceasing from her knitting.
Judith was standing there, with her eyes cast down.
"Sweet lady, by your leave," said he, and he took her hand and raised it and just touched her fingers with his lips. Then he bowed low again, and withdrew.
"Fare you well, good sir," Judith had said at the same moment, but without any word as to a future meeting. Then she returned into the little arbor and sat down.
"Is't not like a meteor, grandmother, shooting across the sky?" said she, merrily. "Beshrew me, but the day has grown dark since he left! Didst ever hear of such a gallymawfrey of dolphins and whales, and prince's barges, and the roaring of cannon, and fire-works? Sure 'tis well we live in the country quiet, our ears would be riven in twain else. And you, grandmother, that was ever preaching about prudent behavior, to be harboring one that may be an outlaw—a recusant; perchance he hath drawn his sword in the King's presence——"
"What know you of the young gentleman, Judith?" the old dame said, sharply.